


Now Lift Your Head Up To The Sky

by likeanchors



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeanchors/pseuds/likeanchors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And maybe, just maybe he was in love with Louis, but Harry hates Mondays with a frightening tenacity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Lift Your Head Up To The Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DontForgetToPanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/gifts).



> (I'm moving the things I like over from Tumblr) I kind of wrote this for Mary. She likes words and I wanted to try and write the prettiest thing I could for her. That said, I hope everyone enjoys it. Apologies if you've read this before.

Harry was wide awake when Louis groaned, a low, guttural sound that shocked Harry, his mouth falling open. Harry squinted at the other boy as he tossed and turned; the bright morning light reflecting off of the white duvet making it hard to see Louis properly. There was little warning before Louis hissed out a defeated breath and clambered awkwardly out of the bed, his feet tangled in the sheets, making him trip. Harry had to bite back the stab of affection that wormed through his body while Louis stumbled and groped his way to the bathroom.

 

Without thought, Harry leant over and switched the radio on, a slow acoustic rock track whispering its way around the room. He was tapping out the tempo on his thighs when he heard the loo flush and the steady trickle of water from the tap. Pushing back the snarl of blankets and sheet Harry felt almost graceful when he stood without issue – an uncommon occurrence given that he was still uncomfortable with the gangly proportions his body has taken on.

 

“I was thinking we could go to that dodgy cafe down the street,” Harry murmured, his voice thick and raspy from disuse. “The one you said looks-”

 

Harry tried not to flinch when Louis’s lips descended unexpectedly upon his own, smothering the end of his sentence. He knew without really knowing that Louis was on his tiptoes, his chest pressed too high on Harry’s own chest to be standing at his actual height. Harry lost himself in the kiss, a soft sigh swallowed by Louis when Louis’s fingers bit into his hipbones. His body was riddled with these twisted love notes from Louis; fingerprints and love bites possessively written into the flesh of Harry’s body.

 

Harry can’t help but grin around Louis’s lips and tongue, a bubble of laughter breaking the kiss. Louis tackled him backwards onto the bed and it’s another half hour before they extricate themselves from the crumpled white sheets and shuck on weather appropriate clothing. They walk side-by-side, knocking hips and shoulders, to the dingy little cafe, all orange and scuffed cream-coloured linoleum, the furniture from the early eighties bathed in harsh fluorescent light that momentarily blinds Harry.

 

Their late breakfast passes in a haze of lazy smiles and fleeting touches over beans – frowned at by Louis who practically shouts how much he hates beans – and more fried eggs, mushrooms, toast and sausage than should be legal. Both stuffed, Harry almost has to drag Louis out of his chair. They order take away coffees and take the long way back to Louis’s in the bracing cold. The tip of Louis’s nose is bright pink and his face is scrunched up, tongue clacking uselessly in an effort to dislodge the acrid taste of burnt coffee and not enough sugar. Harry hides a smile behind the rim of his cup and tries to convince himself that he’s not overwhelmingly in something that feels like love with Louis at that moment.

 

Harry and Louis tumbled back into bed the moment they reached the flat, the bright afternoon sun and plans of a film squandered with comfortable silences and breathy moans, cautious touches and bruising kisses. Twilight fell too quickly, rushing over the sparsely decorated flat with imposing warning. By tea time they’re famished. Harry and Louis dined on half-cooked pot noodle and the remains of the previous night’s Indian takeaway, the Rolling Stones playing quietly in the background, their feet tangled under the table.

 

The evening passed slowly, conversation drifting in and out while Harry and Louis stained their teeth with copious cups of coffee and tea. The ink from their pens bleeding into the skin of their fingers as they wrote furiously; short, choppy fragments of their whirling thoughts preserved on paper forever. Tucked into a shoe box and hidden in the depths of Louis’s wardrobe.

 

Sometime before they fell into Louis’s bed, Harry looked up from doodling asymmetrical shapes onto Louis’s calf to find Louis mouthing the words to the song that was playing. Just the faintest rush of breath making sound as his lips formed the words. Harry felt it then. He had no idea what it was and to be honest, Harry’d never felt anything like it in his life. He wanted Louis in every way conceivable.

 

Harry was intoxicated by Louis at the best of times, but this went beyond the visceral boundaries of their relationship. Harry wanted to possess and nurture Louis. He wanted _all_ of him. He wanted nights like this and mornings like todays. He wanted the fights and the ‘pass the shitty tabloid, and the marmalade while you’re at it, thanks love’ over breakfast. And he wants the ruined evening meals because they were too busy fucking to realise the rice is burning until the smoke alarm hurries them from their lust-fuelled activities. Harry wants everything with Louis, whatever that means; the good, the bad, the unbelievably ugly and the devastatingly beautiful.

 

“Staring won’t give you the power to see through my clothes,” Louis chuckled, a wide grin stretching his lips and crumpling the corners of his eyes.

 

Harry felt his heart stutter out an uncomfortable beat and his cheeks growing warm under Louis’s easy gaze. He could drown in moments like this and never have enough of them.

 

“Been there, seen the merchandise,” Harry shoots back easily, waggling his eyebrows at Louis’s slack mouthed expression, pinching his nipple for good measure.

 

Louis leapt at Harry, tumbling them both onto the thin carpet with a bark of infectious laughter. Minutes slipped by as they tickled and poked at each other’s sides, deafening squeals and defeated groans of pain slipping unchecked from smiling mouths. Fingers that had been questing for a forced giggle soon turned to gentle caresses and then Louis’s mouth was wrenching Harry’s orgasm from him with a breathless cry. They barely made it to Louis’s bedroom before Louis’s flatmate got back from work.

 

Monday morning came all too soon and an unmovable melancholy fell over Harry. He kissed Louis frantically in the tiny alcove outside Louis’s front door, his fingers desperate to keep Louis’s in their grasp. Eventually Louis sent him away with the promise of phone calls and supper on Wednesday.

 

It should have rained as Harry walked away. The weather should have fitted itself around his mood and the overwhelming despair at having to go back to living like he hadn’t discovered, well he wasn’t sure what he’d discovered. He was rocked by Louis’s very existence, by the cadence of his words and the feel of his skin. He was forever changed.

 

And maybe, just maybe, he was in love with Louis but Harry hates Mondays with a frightening tenacity.


End file.
